


Even Our Lord Father Could Not Tell Us Apart

by libraralien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Begging, Crossdressing, F/M, Femdom, Forced Feminization, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraralien/pseuds/libraralien
Summary: Cersei take some of her bitterness about her lack of power as a woman out on Jaime. Jaime is happy to play along with her sexual power trip.





	Even Our Lord Father Could Not Tell Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AFTanith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFTanith/gifts).



> Thanks to [yungdreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yungdreams) for beta-ing!

Cersei had sent for Jaime to come to her quarters around dinner, with specific orders to be freshly bathed, shaven, and in his finest clothing. He had obeyed of course, unsure what she had planned. It was hard to predict his sister’s intentions most of the time. When she was vague like this, usually she either wanted to fuck or was cross with him, or both. Either way, he had found that it was best to go along with it. If she wanted him to fuck her, he would. If she was cross, he would be subject to her anger for a while until she got it out, and even then most of the time they would fuck. When he entered her chambers, he noticed all her maids had been sent away, which was promising. He also noticed the table was not set with food for dinner, but rather she was in the bath, her long gold hair tied up so as not to fall in the bathwater. 

“Good evening, dear sister,” he said.

She looked up from her bath, rather disinterestedly, despite the fact that she had been the one to send for him.

“Good evening, brother,” she said, “Won’t you do me a favor and go over to my bed? I have several dresses laid out, tell me which one you like the best.”

He looked over at the dresses. Every single one was utterly impractical and out of season. They were all flowing, loose, silken things, cut in a Dornish style; loose and insubstantial, both for comfort in the hot weather, and to entice and scandalize. They all were very long so as to trail on the floor. In fact, they could hardly be worn out doors, as the dirt would ruin the bottoms immediately. They seemed to flaunt their impracticality, made only to be worn while while walking along clean palace floors. They were beautiful, fine things, no doubt about it, but also truly unlike anything Cersei favored.

He walked over to the bed and ran his hands over the dresses. They were of a variety colors, all of which favored Cersei’s coloring: dark greens that matched her eyes and paler greens complimented them, every shade of gold from a milky, pale yellow to a deep rich bronze, and fiery Lannister reds. They were so light and shapeless, it was difficult for him to distinguish the different cuts. He considered each carefully, touching them delicately, lest he disfigure any. He did not want to imagine Cersei’s fury should he ruin these fine things she clearly had some sort of plan for.

She would look divine in any of them, of course; Cersei had always known to accentuate her beauty. He pondered each dress, imagining her getting out of the bath, putting it on, letting down her hair. Probably she would draw out getting dressed to tease him. After getting out of the bath, she would likely rub some sort of oil on her soft warm skin. Perhaps she would ask him to help.

“Brother,” he imagined her saying, “I simply cannot reach the small of my back, be a dear and rub this there, would you?” She loved to play faux-innocent with him, at times, acting the beautiful, innocent queen most thought her to be, with nothing more than wholesome, dutiful love for her family and brother.

She would then slowly brush her hair out, or perhaps braid it. Yes, he imagined her braiding her hair perfectly, then sighing as she spotted some imagined flaw, and letting it out to start over, all while knowing exactly how mad with desire she would be driving him.

He noticed much of her jewelry was out, spread across her vanity. She would then likely finger every single jewel in her collection, holding them up to her breast in the mirror as she considered them. Slightly embarrassed, he realized he was getting hard about watching her pick out jewelry. Even worse, at the idea of watching her pick out jewelry. The mystery and her commanding silence was all it took.

He knew, of course they would fuck. Whether she was truly cross with him or not, if she was going to get something from him, that they would fuck was inevitable. It always was. But what exactly she had planned before then, he did not know. Would she make him fuck her in all her finery, making him delicately avoid tearing a dress or knocking a tiara out of her hair? Or would she make him slowly remove each and every piece of finery, folding and putting away things as he went. Or perhaps she wanted them ruined. Perhaps she would goad him into ripping her dress off of her, before tearing her necklace from her neck, sending jewels flying. Perhaps she would act indifferent, enjoying destroying objects of wealth other women would go their whole lives without even seeing. Or perhaps she would act furious with him and order him to buy her new dresses, new jewels.

As he imagined all this, he finally settled on a light green dress with lines of vibrant gold woven in here and there. He held it up for her.

“While you would be beautiful in any one of these dresses, sister, if I must choose, this one may be my favorite.”

She gave a polite, but knowing smile, and said nothing, pushing herself up out of the bath. Warm water rolled down her body as she reached for a length of cloth to dry off with.

“Undress for me, brother,” she said curtly, as she stepped out of the tub and over towards him. She was making no moves to get dressed, unashamed and bold in her nudity, standing proudly and squarely. She was acting fully the commanding queen, radiating power, neither acting nor standing seductively. But then again, she didn’t need to. He had been hers from the day they were born. He tried not to undress too quickly, too eagerly, despite her mysterious and demanding mood only making him more desperate, both to see what she had planned and to fuck. He carefully removed each piece of clothing and laid it neatly on the bed, next to her dresses, as her mood tonight seemed to demand order and careful compliance, no room for messy or wild fucking tonight, he imagined. She stood behind him, not saying anything, but her lack of further orders suggested some kind of approval.

After he placed the last of his underthings neatly on the bed, he turned around to face her, awaiting whatever came next.

“Do you remember,” she said, voice suddenly menacingly sweet, “when we were children, brother?”

The sudden change of tone in her voice and demeanor struck fear and arousal in him. “Of course, sister. We were in love from the moment we came into this world,” he said, trying to flatter her with pretty words.

“Yes. We looked so truly alike then, not even father could tell us apart. Do you remember when I dressed as you and went to your lessons with the master-at-arms?”

“Of course.”

“What did you do while I was off pretending to be you?”

“I believe I dressed as you and created some truly ghastly needlework in your name,” he said, the few boring afternoons vague in his memory. He remembered being generally annoyed at his sister’s demand to switch places, as he had found little amusement in them, but he saw how much joy they had brought her and always played along.

Cersei nodded as she walked over to him and began running her hands over all the clothes, his and hers, on the bed.

“Of course, as we grew older, our bodies changed. No one would mistake us for the other now. But that is their mistake, isn’t it brother. We are still mirror reflections of one another. Still one soul in two bodies. If there was any mistake in our birth, it was that we should have been the same sex; should have been perfect images of each other. We would be allowed to rule together, then,” she said, anger growing in her voice. 

She picked up his clothes and turned to him and said, “Brother, help me into your clothes. I wish to see what I would look like as you now.”

He was not sure if this was part of her plan for the evening, or if she had gotten distracted by her bitterness over her lack of power. Either way, he knew nothing good would happen if he disobeyed her, so he helped her, lacing up the breeches, fastening the jacket over his tunic, kneeling and easing the leather boots onto her feet. Despite being taller and broader than her, his clothes fit her surprisingly well, or at least suited her. She looked a bit like a squire having been given his master’s clothing to grow into. He watched as she regarded herself in the mirror. She looked proud and knightly like this. He imagined her wielding a sword, and was surprised to find himself somewhat aroused at the idea. 

He had always loved his sister for how womanly and delicate she appeared, disguising how powerful she was. But seeing her like this, looking physically powerful, like a warrior, like a knight, he felt undone. He imagine her holding her sword to his throat, making him beg for his life. He knew he was becoming hard and that she would notice. He was suddenly aware of his nudity now that she was dressed. 

She noticed him shifting awkwardly to cover himself, how her dressing had suddenly made him feel exposed before her.

“Oh, I do apologize,” she said, in her most charming tone, “You must feel so strange being on display for me like this. However, I am rather fond of how I look in your clothes, and think I shall stay in them for the evening. How lucky that I have these dresses here.”

So that was her plan, to switch places like the had as children, only this time so that she might for the evening have a more private fantasy of power, real power. It seemed unnecessary that he should be forced to join in, for her to make him wear a dress, but her overly polite and cheerful tone suggested that she was teetering on the edge of a rage, as she often was, which she was carefully controlling, which she might unleash some sort of private terror on Jaime should he refuse her. The new dresses also suggested she had been planning this for some time.

“Go on,” she said, seeing him hesitate for a moment, ”I believe you said the light green one was your favorite.”

She lifted the dress delicately off the bed and and skillfully unfurled the length of delicate silk.

“Lift your arms,” she commanded, and he obeyed.

She went about the business of carefully getting him into the dress. The flowing wrap style meant that it was forgiving to his broad shoulders, his lack of a waist. When she was done, it in fact seemed to fit him quite well, the light fabric falling off his body in a way that enhanced any feminine features he did have, he thought as he looked in Cersei’s long silver mirror. The broad width of fabric fell over his shoulders, giving way to bare arms. The dress wrapped in such a way to suggest hips. In the right light, he could easily have been mistaken for a broader version of Cersei. 

His approval at how he looked in the dress was tempered by the fact that he was hardly more covered than when he had been naked. The fabric was so sheer, he could still see every detail of his nude body underneath. And so it seemed, could Cersei, who was drinking in the sight of him dressed this way from behind, as he examined himself. He found himself desperate to hear her say something approving.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning towards her.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say I had a sister,” she said, and he felt strangely proud. “But a dress like that hardly looks right without some pretty jewels, don’t you think?”

She walked over to her vanity and selected a thin gold chain, some gold bangles, and a gold tiara. Cersei would never dare wear all of them at once, favoring one thing at a time. But she was right, a dress like this suggested lavishness.

She gently eased every piece onto him, fussily moving his hair around as she placed the tiara on his head.

He looked in her mirror again and chuckled, “Now I look like a king’s favorite whore,” he said.

She smiled, “Why not the Queen’s?”

She stepped forward and placed her hands on him, adjusting his dress, his long necklace, but this time lingering, drawing her hands greedily over the soft silk clinging to his body.

“How does it feel, brother? To be the pretty thing? To be powerless, except for your wiles? Do you even have wiles, Jaime? Or have you spent your whole life only honing your physical strength? If you were a woman, would you be some helpless cowering thing at the hands of your husband?”

It was so sudden he hardly knew what to say, “I…I-”

“Well, let’s just see then,” she said, cutting him off.

She ran a hand up his leg, slipping it inside the folds of the dress, grabbing his cock. The tension of Cersei’s obscure machinations all evening had left him already aroused, and he instantly grew hard in her hand, as she worked up and down.

“You’ll never get anything you want if you are that eager,” she said disapprovingly, but didn’t stop.

He felt embarrassed under her gaze, even though she was the one who had orchestrated this whole thing. She looked at him greedily, but made no move to suggest he should lay a hand on her in return. In fact, her demeanor suggested he should do no such thing.

He shuddered as he felt himself grow close to coming, as he thrusted into her fist, her other hand placed gently at the small of his back, encouraging him.

Suddenly she stopped and pulled her hand off his cock. “Not so fast, you pretty thing. No woman receives satisfaction so quickly, if at all.”

Feeling foolish but desperate, he thrust uselessly into the nothing where he hand had just been.

“Go on, convince me to satisfy you.”

“Please, dear sister,” he whined, blushing. This was hardly like him, dressed ridiculously, at Cersei’s mercy like this. But he couldn’t pull away from the situation now.

“Beg better, more convincingly,” she said coolly.

He dropped to his knees instantly. “Please, dear sister. I am at your mercy now and forever. Even this humiliation, because it is for you, I am desperate for more. You know every detail of my mind and body because we are one. It is right I should be before you like this, as you have been for me, and we are truly equals. Nobody but me understands your true power, how we are beholden to one another.”

This seemed to satisfy her.

“Get up,” she ordered.

He quickly got up to his feet, and pressed his body against her. He could feel the thick, structured fabric of his clothes on her through the thin fabric of the dress. He wished to press into her so completely that the barriers between their bodies disappeared and they became one, as they had been in the womb. Only in her touch was he complete.

She lifted her hand back up to his cock and began to work him again. Again, he was almost instantly on the verge of coming. She did not force him to his knees again, but she did slow or stop her hand over and over until he was making desperate whimpering noises into her shoulder, his whole body shuddering with need. He wanted more; to fuck her, ideally, but even just her kiss would sate him. She refused, leaning her head away each time he went searching for her mouth with his.

Finally, she allowed him to spill in her hand and against the inside of the dress.

“Disgusting, ruining that dress in that manner,” she said, though looking extremely pleased. She wiped her hand on the chest of the dress.

He felt ground to nothing under her command, so powerless. With the arousal gone, it was a scary, shocking feeling.

“Clean yourself up,” she commanded, as she watched him recover. “No lady should be seen in that state, let alone a Lannister. Pull yourself together.”


End file.
